The Boys Are Back in Town
by HemlockStones
Summary: It has always been a moral code of an army officer to, if ever captured, cause their captors as much difficulty and irritation as they possibly can, usually in the form of attempted escape. To stop this, the Nazi Germans took all the greatest escape artists from their assigned prison and put them into one single camp. Now, what could possibly be wrong with this idea? :Mortal AU:
1. Mr Death

1942.

It was a year where many things, most of them of note, occurred. As usual, the sun rose each morning, people got up and went to work or school. All the trees grew a little bit taller, ripples made interesting patterns in the sea, and Death went about his daily routine of collecting souls when their time on the earth had finally reached its end.

It wasn't a bad job, as jobs go. Every day, Death would not get up from his bed, as he never actually slept in it, go downstairs, and wander his libraries checking all of his millions of little sand clocks. Each of which bore a separate persons name.

Every once and awhile, his butler, Albert, could be seen skulking around in the background. Cleaning, cooking, extermination, you know, all the little things butlers do. Sometimes he would be holding a frying pan, and on it would be an egg. Cooking, somehow, as he walked it around the manor.

All in all, it was a fairly mundane lifestyle, for a given value of the word life anyway. Everyday was the same, sometimes more interesting people died, sometimes less interesting people died. And sometimes, he hoped that certain people would die, just so he could see what would happen during their moment of realization.

A cracked sand timer marked 'Adolf Hitler' was one of major interest to the anthropomorphic personification.

Death remembered everything, he remembered everything that had ever happened, and he remembered everything that was ever going to happen. And he often made note of this to his butler.

" _IT'S STRANGE, ALBERT."_ Death would say. " _HUMANS TALK OF REMEMBERING, YET MEMORY TO THEM IS SIMPLY A CONCEPT THAT REFERS TO EVENTS OF THE PAST. YET, I REMEMBER WHAT THERE IS, WHAT THERE WAS, AND WHAT THERE WILL BE."_

And the small old man would always respond like this, with Death of Rats perched cloak-ishly on his shoulder.

"It certainly sounds like a headache, master. Cup of tea?"

And then the conversation would happen again after about a week and a half or so. Death tended to revisit thoughts just to see if somehow that would make him think of them differently.

But despite his memory of all that was, is, and will be, Death particularly remembered this day, in 1942. This was because it was odd. Especially interesting, one might say.

It was business as usual, at first. A timer appeared empty, Death picked up up, inspected it. And once he was sure that it was properly done away with, he vanished in a swirl of black robes, black shadows, and even more black, re appearing at the sight of the newly deceased.

He was in an office. It was expensively furnished, all four walls were wood. From the ceiling hung a small crystal chandelier, providing the only light, as outside night had rolled in and covered the land in darkness.

There were two bay doors that led to a balcony, both were wide open, and the curtains that framed them flapped inwards, casting shadows across the carpet.

Death looked around the rest of the room, there was a small circular table and two chairs next to the exiting door, which was also wide open. He stepped over, outside in the hall were two guards, both lying on the floor. Not dead, unconscious. Death didn't linger on them.

On the other end of the room, bookshelves stacked up against the wall, the only part not covered by bookshelves was covered by a map of central Europe. Pins stabbed through the paper in numerous locations. Death was mildly amused, it looked as if someone hadn't understood the rules of pin the tail on the donkey.

Finally he turned to the desk, large, oak, and expertly crafted. No nails or rough edges were shown on any part. The top was kept very orderly, papers stacked neatly in a single pile, pencils, pens, and rulers all sat in a cup, and there was a small stand for a pair of glasses.

Or at least, that's what it would have looked like, in a normal set of circumstances. The papers were scattered everywhere, the gasses stand knocked forward onto the floor, and rulers and pens were haphazardly laying all across the desk and floor.

A man lay slumped over the desk. His knees were on the floor, his chair barely supporting him, and threatening to slide backwards, if it wasn't for the carpet. He wore an officer's uniform, insignia on his shoulder noting that he was a high rank, though Death didn't recognize it. He didn't bother with insignia's, they all were going to die sooner or later.

None of this was the most important fact about him, that was his head. The top was gushing red. Or at least it was, at one point. It had since stopped. Blood coated everything, the papers, the desk, parts of the man, and the floor. It was a clean hole. Someone had shot him.

Death walked over to him, stepping around the scattered cutter. He stood just to his right, and stared at him. The limp form having nothing to stare back with. Then he raised his trademark scythe, and calmly tapped the center of the man's spine, and everything became surreal.

The room faded, though not completely. Everything looked like it was being seen through a screen of glass, tainted white. The man glowed slightly, a blue aura flickering around him, it shifted slightly.

The man, or at least what was left of him groaned. A blue, spiritually outline leaned back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He put a hand to his forehead, "Oh... my head is _killing_ me!" He said, though not in English.

" _THAT IS TO BE EXPECTED, MR. ADENAUER."_

"I mean, I've had migraines before, but they were nothing compared to this. It feels like someone just waltzed in shot me in the head."

" _WELL, I WOULDN'T SAY...'WALTZED,"_ Death looked back at the door, the top hinge of which was hanging off. " _ALSO, THE IRONY IS MOST AMUSING."_

Adenauer regarded Death strangely. "You don't look like you're laughing…"

The skull of Death stared back at him from beneath the hood, two glowing blue dots shining from within. " _I AM ON THE INSIDE, BELIEVE ME."_

Adenauer didn't stop. "You look strange..."

" _SOON IT WILL SEEM QUITE REGULAR TO YOU, MR. ADENAUER."_

"And who let you in here?!"

" _I DID."_

"Oh." Adenauer didn't push the issue. He felt uncomfortable around this strange man, with a cloak for a uniform, and bones for a face. He was strictly an army man, he didn't know people.

" _I'M NOT PEOPLE."_

The German officer jumped in his chair, which fell over backwards, but didn't. That is to say, a blue spiritually equivalent of the chair tipped over with Adenauer in it, but the chair and officer themselves stayed upright. It's a scene one can't quite understand unless severely under the influence of alcohol, or army issue morphine.

Death loomed over Adenauer, he gulped. Then he leaned down and extended a set of bony fingers. " _COULD I GIVE YOU A HAND?"_

Adenauer only nodded, and grasped the bony appendage. "Er, you fingers are quite cold, mister."

" _SORRY."_

Adenauer nodded numbly, massaging his fingers. Death said nothing, such a reaction was common when meeting Death.

" _JUST KNOW IT IS NOT AN ISSUE YOU WILL HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT, IN THE FUTURE."_

Death raised a bony finger, Adenauer followed its direction. Staring blankly at his slumped form, and post tornado office. He sighed a moment, no other reaction. His arms hung limply by his side and his posture slumped a little. He looked helplessly back at Death, who hadn't taken his eyes off him.

"So?"

" _HM?"_

The German man paused again. He wet his lips, which had become impossible dry. He nodded towards his own corpse. "I'm dead, then?"

" _YES."_

"Ah."  
Then there was silence again. The officer staring glumly at himself. Then he sighed. "I guess… it was coming sooner or later…?"  
Death nodded. "YES. I BELIEVE AS YOU HUMANS WOULD SAY, THAT IS THE SPIRIT."

By the expression Adenauer gave him, Death realized that, in fact, that was not what humans would say.

He cleared his throat, or at least, emitted the sound of clearing his throat. He didn't actually have a throat to clear. He gestured to the man, both parts of him " _ARE YOU READY?"_ He didn't bother to specify what he meant, people always knew.

Adenauer shrugged. "Well, I had finished work for the night…"

" _HM."_

He shrugged again. "Got all my work done… sent my report off to the commandant."

" _THAT IS GOOD."_

"Built a new camp, reorganized the imprisonment of enemy officers."

" _THAT SOUNDS LIKE AN IMPORTANT TASK."_

"There had been numerous breakouts, you see. The Fuhrer ordered we do something about it." Adenauer kept talking, somehow hoping that if he said enough words, things would start to make sense.

" _HOW FORWARD THINKING OF HIM."_

Adenauer started sweating. "I was put in charge of the operation, and told what I had to do. I followed my orders to a letter." Now it was equal parts, attempting to understand, and attempting to at least reach a form of Purgatory.

" _AN ADMIRABLE QUALITY."_

"I set orders for construction of a new camp, and had all of officers with records of escape attempts transferred there."

" _HM."_

"That way we can keep an eye on all of them at once. None of them can escape. Less men to guard more men, and to guard more men at one time."

" _AH."_

"That way, no one will escape. Everyone will be kept under the same lock and key. There will be no flaws in the security if they all follow the same plan. THey lock everyone together, so that no one can escape."

Death was silent for a moment, Adenauer stared at him with a crazed look. Not as common in the recently dead but not unheard of. He was stiff as a board and perspiration rolled off his forehead. In other words, if no one could tell he was crazy before hand, they would be able to now.

Finally Death spoke again. " _IT TAKES A MAN OF CERTAIN INTELLIGENCE TO THINK OF A PLAN LIKE THAT."_

Adenauer visibly sagged with relief. As Death continued to stare at him he began to feel strange. DIfferent. He looked down and his body was flickering.

" _NOW, MR. ADENAUER, I SUGGEST YOU STOP THINKING OF CAMPS, AND START THINKING ABOUT THE BRIGHT SIDE."_

The man felt sick, everything began spinning around him, his form was barely solid now, mostly just wisps of vapour. "What brightside?" He wailed.

" _HM? OH, IT'S JUST A FIGURE OF SPEECH. YOU'LL HAVE TO FIND OUT 'WHAT' ON YOUR OWN."_

There was a final squeak of protest, and the man was gone.

The room blurred back into focus, Death stood alone. Him and the slumped corpse of the former German officer. And a rat, which already began sniffing at the man's feet. Wondering if they tasted any good.

Death glanced at the tiny little creature. Usually it was a day or two before they showed up. Perhaps the man just was never very good with cleanliness.

But it didn't especially matter. People were born and people died, and then the rats got to them. And that was near the extend of Death's understanding of humans. Aside from his fascination at the way that they worked and worked at things knowing full well that in eighty years nothing they ever did would matter again and after another eighty years no one would care who they were.

But such thoughts, to humans, were deemed as depressing.

Death gave the room one last look over, and held up the sand timer in his hand. He watched as it slowly faded away into nothing, transferring itself off somewhere else. Where? Death never knew. That was Afterlife's domain. And the two never really got along. Afterlife always had his radio on too loud, plus he refused to ever return the lawnmower.

The room faded around him as he whisked himself back to his home. He thought back briefly to the funny little man, with the small spectacles, that pinched his nose to stay on his face.

He was quite amusing. Crazy, and not very intelligent. What moron would ever dream up such a plan. If Death could either laugh, or find things funny, he would have chuckled.

Putting all the notorious escape artists into one prison, surrounded only by fences and men with guns. It was foolhardy. Everyone should have known that the rats would have gotten to them soon enough.

 **AN:**

 **Now before you all complain about the fact that it was I put a missleading summary, not to mention the fact that I pulled a prologue on you, this is not the whole concept of the story. This is simply a little opening I did, using Terry Pratchett's Death character to introduce you to the moron who created the situation in which the story will happen.**

 **I will go ahead and apologize right now, there will be no romance in this story. OR women, for that matter. At least, not as major plot points or characters. Why? No, I'm not a misogynist, this is just an officers prison camp in WWII. There are no women there. I didn't create history. This is simply an homage and reworking of The Great Escape. Which I personally recommend you all go watch. Yes, it's old, nut it's one of the best pieces of cinima ever released.**

 **Review, Follow, and Favorite if you enjoyed it. If you don't, go rub sand... in your... dead little eyes. Or don't I don't require you enjoy my work, I'm not that egocentric. I'm not Kanye West.**

 **I'll try to update this soon, but it will be slower than Hellhound on my Trail and Son of the King. As those two have more certain plot lines, while I have to work with an existing plot line here. And though it sounds easier, I have to do alot of reworking.**

 **Until next time, this is Hemlock Stones signing off.**


	2. Captain Grace

**AN:**

 **Yes it has been slightly longer than a week since I've updated, and since it's summer I have no real excuse. Other than that I just wasn't getting everything written down fast enough. For that I apologize. Those of you that were confused by the last chapter, this should set it right. The prologue was just a little thing I did for fun. The real story starts here.**

 **Thank you all for waiting politely for me to update. I will try to get Hellhound on my Trail updated as soon as possible. Especially because more likely htan not, it's only going to be the first fic in a trio of fics. So, updating sooner rather than later will probably make you all happier.**

 **Now, read on you poor bastards- I mean people, lovely people.**

In the eastern provinces of Nazi Germany, much of the landscape was dotted with constructions that showed any wayward traveler there was one hell of a war going on.

Prison camps were everywhere, covering former farms, build around lumber mills, and stuffed in the hills in the mountains when they started to run out of room. Each camp did not hold too many men. Too many men meant more men than guards, and even with guns, there was only so much the Nazi's could hold back.

One of these camps, notorious in both it's day and days long after it's use, was Stalag Luft III, located in German occupied Poland. This camp was not an ordinary camp. No, this camp had a special purpose. It was to be a high security compound, used to house all the most notorious escape artists in various camps across Nazi controlled territory. The purpose was, aside from to decrease the number of escapes, was to lessen the resource use of German infantry and money by simply using a single camp to hold everyone.

Now on paper, this may have seemed like a good idea, but in reality, there were… several important problems…

Group Captain Jason Grace had woken up in many different ways over his thirty three year life. Several of which had been quite memorable. But there was none he hated more than the sharp rap on a wooden door, and a rifle jammed into his side.

Needless to say, it got him woken up quite quickly. It worked better than coffee. That is, if coffee directly caused a sharp pain just below one's ribs.

He was taken out of the log cabin, in which he and a number of other men all were required to be in by curfew less they be shot. Across the compound, he was led by two surly German guards, both stoically silent in that way that all infantrymen are trained.

Now Jason Grace was a big man, and more often than not he found himself literally looking down on those he was talking to, but he found that whenever he was accompanied by guards, they always happened to be just enough larger than him to make him not crack wise in any situation.

One of them stepped ahead of them as they approached the commandant's private cabin/house, and, with a salute to his comrades, opened the door and walked in. The other guard nudged Jason forward, and the two followed him in.

The first room was mostly empty. There was one guard standing at the far end, rifle crossed over his chest. Behind him was a double door. To the right and left there was mostly empty space. A few pieces of furniture here and there, and a window facing the east. Allowing light to trickle past the curtains.

The guards reached out to halt him, but Jason had already stopped. He knew the drill, he had been in here dozens of times. It was sort of like a second job.

As usual, one of the men walked over to him and began going over his uniform. As he reached into a pocket, he stopped and raised an eyebrow. From his back pocket he pulled a spoon. The point had be ground down into a blade.

The guard looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and held the hunk of metal in front of his face. Jason stared into the middle distance. Blue eyes unblinking.

The German guards were uncomplicated men, Jasen had known this for a long time. The guard put the spoon in his pocket and walked through a door into another room. The two remaining guards moved to flank the door, and Jason stayed in his spot. Waiting to be called in.

He waited for fifteen minutes, according to the clock on the wall. The commandant had to be roused, and he didn't hurry. The only thing to occupy his attention, was to listen to the ticking of the clock, and drum his fingers on his thigh in perfect rhythm. An old soldiers trick, which for some, helped make time pass faster in their eyes.

Eventually Jason heard someone on the other side of the door. Footsteps shuffled across the floor and a chair scraped backwards over wood planks. Someone sat in it, the chair creaked lightly, but in the near complete silence, Jason picked up the noise clearly.

He had another thirty seconds to wait before the commandant called out to him. "Enter, Captain Grace."

The English officer strode forward, and slowly pushed open the doors, not to alarm either of the men on either side of him. They may not have been as intelligent as Jason, but that didn't matter. They had STGs.

The commandant was a thin man. Both in physical appearance and in personality. From what Jason Grace knew, he was fairly one sided. He was a German officer, former infantryman, who was promoted because Hitler knew his daddy. He smoked heavily and drank lightly. Never doing either after his six o'clock stroll around the perimeter of the camp. Guarded by four soldiers, two armed with STGs, two armed with gewehrs. To his men he was curt, to the prisoners he was even more so. He didn't talk much, he wasn't a man who wasted breath. It was hard to imagine him living with a family, or going out to meet friends, or even collecting stamps. There was just nothing spare about the man. Any sign of escape in the camp by a single man, and he would be shot immediately.

And that was just what Jason knew from watching him. Or at least what he guessed, but something made him sure that he was mostly right.

The commandant looked at him, coal black eyes digging into his soul from the back of a long, thin nose, in which his voice resonated. "Sit down, captain Grace."

Jason slid a chair back and eased back into it. Though he played it cool in the eyes of the Germans, that guard had really hit him hard with the rifle. He certainly was expecting a bruise to form in a short while.

"Good morning, Commandant." He said. He always addressed the man by his rank. Not 'sir', in a respectful town. And not the man's name, 'Ingo' in a disrespectful one. An American soldier once had told him it always paid to be somewhat nice to your jailor, because it may mean that they handcuff you in the front. And a man with both hands where he can see them has a whole lot of freedom.

Jason had always assumed that the quote wasn't only meant to be taken in a complete literal sense.

The German officer sifted through various pieces of paper on his desk, taking several of them and neatly stacking them together. Reaching down, his hand came back up with a pair of spectacles, which he donned and then maneuvered his eyes down to the paper.

"Captain Grace. I have brought you here this morning for something very, very important. And, as the senior British Officer in the camp, you are to deliver this information to the men later today."

"And what is this information?" Jason gave no indication of his reaction to the information so far given.

Commandant Ingo leaned back in his chair. "Captain Grace, as you know, POWs of all nationality, rank, and description have things in common. The fact that they are imprisoned being the most obvious. In this instance, as you also know, what I speak of is an inborn desire of escape."

"It is a thing that seems to appeal to prisoners, that is true." said Jason. Dryly, yet not overly so. Always be somewhat nice.

"Yes," said the commandant. "That was the reason for the creation of this camp. You have no doubt already noticed, during your time here, the added security measures we have put here that other prisons just do not have."

Jason cocked an eyebrow. "Actually, commandant, I hadn't noticed. It just looks like any other."

Ingo just looked at him. "Of course you hadn't Captain Grace."

Jason stared back. Secretly acknowledging that it wasn't even a good try.

"Tomorrow morning, a collection of American prisoners from various camps around the continent will arrive here. All men will be rearranged and some moved into the new cabins we have build in a new sector."

"How many men?"

The commandant looked down at his sheet of paper. "Two hundred and twenty officers."

For the first time that morning, Jason's mask completely slipped. "Two hundred and twenty?"

"Yes, Captain Grace."

"There's no way I can keep order amongst that many men!"

Ingo shook his head. "You will not have to, captain. There will be two American officers who will be in also be in charge of a section of soldiers. And another British officer will be put in charge. You shall have assistance in keeping order. Each cabin will also have another men in charge of keeping those men in line. They will all be selected by myself, not by you. And any reports of other men taking charge will result in a complete rearrangement of the men."

 _There goes my second, third, fourth, and fifth question,_ though Jason. Out loud, he said, "It sounds like you have this all sorted out. All these rules, and countermeasures that I know nothing about. No escapes on your watch, eh?"

The commandant looked at him levelly. Jason had long ago decided to keep track of every one of those looks he earned. Each one was worth five points. The points however, were worth nothing.

"I would hope not, Captain Grace." He said tightly.

Jason shrugged. "As you know commandant. It is the code of every officer in the army to, if captured, because their captors as much irritation and difficulties as possible," he smiled a small smile. "And, well, I'm sure the situation doesn't escape you."

"I am sure it does not." Ingo pulled a second piece of paper from his stack. "The other thing I wanted to briefly mention, captain, is… do you know or have any knowledge a Colonel Jackson."

Inside Jason's mind, something shattered. THoughts raced a million miles an hour and he almost let it slip onto his face, but was able to catch it before it escaped. With as much control and indifference as he could, he looked up and to the right before shaking his head slowly. "Nope, can't say I do."

Ingo nodded. "Ah. Well, he will also be arriving at the camp, a day after the rest of the prisoners. Escorted by Gestapo men. He will be the senior commander of the American prisoners. You two will be working together for some time."

"Good to know." Jason said weakly.

"Now, captain, you have business to attend to, as do I. You can escort yourself out, good day." Ingo nodded to him and looked down at his desk. Picking up a pen and moving a sheet of paper in front of him. Jason hadn't moved.

The commandant looked back up after a moment. "Do you mind?"

"No." Jason stood up slowly, making sure to grab his hat, which he had nearly forgotten he had. Donning it, he turned sharply, and with a soldier's march, took his leave from the room.

Five hours later, Jason stood in the main room of cabin six. Every member of which was out milling about on the prison grounds. Lunch had passed an hour before, and after thirty minutes max of eating, the men were still deeply involved in a game of football. The majority of them anyway, if Jason's memory served him correctly, Kipper, Scout, and Mitch were all three surveying the perimiter of the camp. Looking for the largest blind spot in the German's defense. So far they had found two or three. Jason gave it another week before they tried to escape.

Or he would have anyway. With the Americans arriving he wasn't so sure.

He heard a door creak open at the far end of the cabin. Two sets of footsteps made their way toward him. Two men appeared in the doorway and walked in. Jason nodded to the two of them.

"Dakota. Frank." He said.

"Jason." Frank responded, with a solute. Dakota followed briskly. Jason waved hi hand towards the two and they both returned to ease. Walking forward they stood across a table that stood just to Jason's left.

"So what's going on, sir? You said you needed to speak with us." Frank was the first to speak.

Jason turned to him. Frank Zhang, a captain, similar to himself. Except that Frank was never involved with the RAF. Frank worked on the ground. He had been captured when the Germans had broken into the fort at which he was stationed and killed that majority of his men. He and a few of the other senior soldiers were all taken to prison camps. Though he was the only one at this one. Like Jason, he used to command, which is why Jason often went to him for consulting. Unlike Jason however, he was much more cautious. Always looking for any flaw or problem in any situation. Once again, a trait that made him a man to whom Jason often went to to talk out something he was thinking.

"We've got a big change coming." Said Jason. He lit a cigarette. They were brought in by crate for the soldiers to enjoy. Jason never really knew why those in charge bothered, but he certainly didn't complain. They also brought decent food. "Tomorrow something huge is going to happen. We'll have to rearrange everything going on around here, and get used to life going very differently."

"Please just say it Jason. I'm not as smart as you are." Dakota leaned against the table, using his right hand to hold himself up. Dakota, another captain, also ground force not RAF. No one knew his last name, and he had never felt obliged to tell anyone. He had been in the army longer than anyone else in the camp, which made him a perfect man to co lead with his fellow captains. Plus, he was the camp's veteran escape artist. Ten times in total, all from different camps. They moved him each time he tried. So far he hadn't tried for an eleventh, but Jason always suspected that he had some sort of plan.

"Two hundred and twenty," Jason paused to let the number sink in. "Two hundred and twenty American soldiers are going to be transferred here to stay, in the morning, tomorrow."

Frank stared at him. "Two hundred and twenty?"  
Dakota chimed in. "Is there even enough room?"

Jason shrugged. "The commandant seems to think so. And the Gestapo. They're who are behind this huge shift. There's also a new section going to be opened up for the men to move into. Not just Americans, some of us as well."

Dakota whistled. "That's a big shift."

Jason nodded. "That's not it. There's something else. Apparently it's causing the Germans too much money to hold repeated escape artists in various prisons all around the country, so they're shifting them all here. All of them."

Frank and Dakota just stared at him in shock. Then their expression shifted slightly, making them look like little boys on christmas day. Just, you know, taller, heavier, and scruffier. "You're Joking."

"No."

Dakota grinned. "So. What you're saying is. To stop people from breaking out of camps. THey're taken all the people who break out of camps, and put them in one camp," he started laughing. "What moron came up with that idea?"

"No clue. But that's not what's important. What's important is that you take this information and spread it around to all the men. Make sure everybody knows and is prepared. And make sure they understand, no break outs are to be attempted until I give the word otherwise. If they try, they won't just have the Germans to worry about. I have enough on my plate already." Jason looked back and forth between the two men, watching them both nod.

"And not to mention, you're going to have even more to deal with tomorrow." said Frank.

Jason sighed tiredly. "I know. At least a couple of the Americans are going to be put in a position like mine as well. And maybe a couple of our boys too. The commandant likes order."

"That's the truth." chuckled Dakota grimly. "There anything else you want us to do, sir?"

Jason shook his head. "No. Just get out there and get the word around. Then make sure you two are ready as well. The commandant may be looking to put one or both of you in charge as well, considering you're both captains."

Frank nodded. "Will do, sir. We'll report back when it's done."

"Thank you, lads. On your way." The three each ripped off a textbook salute. Just because they were imprisoned was no reason to let form slip. Then the two less senior officers took their leave from the cabin. The outside noise slipped through the door a moment before once again getting cut off as it shut again.

Jason put the cigarette back up to his lips and took a drag. Blowing the smoke as far away as possible. He watched the tendrils drift through the room and away, out the open window. As they dissipated into the air, he thought to himself, imagining that they were the Germans.

 **AN:**

 **And that's a chapter. In case you didn't know, STGs and Gewehrs are both guns used by the Germans in WWII. The first is an assault rifle, the other is just a normal rifle. In other words, it's an assault rifle that gave up on it's dreams.**

 **Thank you all for giving the story a second or first try. The way to tell if you're on the second or first try is to see how much you're irritated with me. If it's a little, it's the first chance you've given it. If it's a lot, it's the second. Either way, I still offer my thanks.**

 **I'd like to give a special shout out to John Sturges, for directing the incredible movie that the story will be based partially on. The Great Escape. Ok. now that's out of the way. Sorry, John Sturges, but that's all the praise you're getting for now.**

 **Read, rate, review, favorite, follow, curse, burn, boycott. Whichever of those you pick, I will accept your choice. Just with varying degrees of satisfaction, dissatisfaction _._** **Though I ask that you do at least one of the first four, because otherwise _I Can't Get No Satisfaction._**

 **Anyone...? Anybody...?**

 **Ahem, anyway, until next time, this is Hemlock Stones signing off.**

 **Post Publish Add On:**

 **I am adding this little clause to answer a few questions given to me, and hopefully to ease confusion.**

 **Jason and Percy are both prisoners. But Percy has not arrived yet, Gestapo is bringing him in from another camp under special guard. Jason was so shocked by his incoming arrival due to the fact that they were placing one of the most infamous escape artists, soldiers, commanders, a Colonel non the less, in the camp with a bunch of other master escape artists. Plus, as you will see in the future, he and Percy have a bit of a...history...**

 **Jason is allowed control over the men because that is his job. In prison camps, the Germans always appointed a senior officer or two to be partially in charge of the men. This meant the senior officer would relay information to them, organize any activities that when on, report to the commanant, and basically give orders to the troops. Although any order given could be overturned by the Germans.  
-**


	3. AN

**AN: Also known as, the entire document.**

 **Greetings loyal readers, I will start this AN out by apologizing to you all. I have been forced to go on hiatus by unfortunate circumstances.**

 **For those of you who are additionally curious, there is a rather major reason behind this break, and this reason is one I hope that you can all understand. A few days ago, I endured an accident. Presently I am fine, except for one tiny detail. Four of my fingers are currently broke, and two hurt like hell still. I am typing this AN with four fingers across two hands.**

 **Because of this, I will be taking a break from writing, as my current writing process is not only difficult and painful, but it is agonizingly slow. And I feel that I will produce nothing more than filler after filler in this state. So I have deiced to wait until I can type again before continuing. I do not know when this is, but I promise it will be as soon as I can make it.**

 **Thank you for those of you who understand, and once again, than you all for your continuous support on my work. It makes me very happy to see.**

 **One additional thing, I was asked at one point by a fan to make a list of themes for the Percy Jackson characters. I have put that list on my profile. While it is not complete, I will be working on that since it requires very little actual typing. Check it out, and send me a message with what you think, and maybe what you thin could be themes for the characters I haven't included.**

 **Now, without further ado, until next time, this is Hemlock Stones signing off.**


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